Breaking the silence

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So much of what happens to cancer families happens in silence. You may see social media posts, but they do little justice to the minute by minute terror that is constantly plaguing these families. A recent post by a Facebook friend gives a pretty good picture of the reality, so I’m sharing it in honor of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month.

Childhood Cancer Awareness Month Day 18: madness

Watching your child lose their abilities day by day, or even faster, right in front of you. Seeing the incomprehension in their eyes and, besides showing love and hollowly saying everything will be ok, not being able to truly make anything better.

After your child’s tumor progresses and your doctors stop returning your calls. True that they don’t have any more answers but so heartless nonetheless.

Hearing the stories of friends and family who came over to cook meals, clean house, babysit, take photos, launch fundraisers, play music, spend countless hours doing research and speaking with doctors on that other family’s behalf..then comparing this to your own reality.

When after an hour of coaxing and coddling your child manages to get down the pills you hope could help extend their life only to throw them all up immediately after—bad hiccup timing or stubborn refusal? The outcome is the same.

Being denied clinical trial access and off trial medications that could extend your child’s life, due to bad timing, lack of clout carried by your medical team or more often the company/trial’s cold blooded decision to prioritize obtaining future data points over the life of your child.

Cackling madly to the ceiling when faced with yet another setback, ankle deep in the latest bodily fluid that needs disposal before you can even begin thinking of cleaning your house that looks like a) war zone b) crime scene c) hoarder’s lair (pick whichever fits best).

Dug deep furrows in both wrists watching my love get re-radiated today, head bolted tight to the machine, as we fight two tumors this, our last, time around.

Finally dozing off to sleep before being jarred awake by a bizarre sound coming from my child’s throat which sounds like ghastly choking, only to be reassured by the tone of her voice (words are now too indistinct to understand) that she’s actually ok, it was nothing.

These are just a few of the stones in the DIPG path that trigger madness.

This is how it feels at the moment….and my beloved child is still here, for now.

The alternative is unimaginable.